The ghost of Slytherin
by Scamasax
Summary: Rated m for future chapters and Character death. The war is lost and the Slytherin house brought to extinction. Adult Draco Malfoy in a world controlled by ‘The light’. no slash. slightly insane Draco.


_Chapter 1- Where are my fields of green?_

The red haired devil grinned mockingly as they cornered her in the dimly lit alley, sure of his victory with at least five wands bearing down at her. Though wandless she never batted an eye, in the last light of the fleeing sun her blue eyes shone with defiance and pure hatred. She would not cower, like the others before her never had. Not even as they burned on the pyre, mocked by a cheering crowd. All they had had was their pride and noble heritage, which was about the only thing that could never be taken away from them. Just as they could not touch the memories they all carried in their hearts.

Draco never knew what she thought in those moments, but he knew this, she was brave and never gave her enemies the pleasure of fear. Somehow, in a way he could not later explain, he sensed it before it happened. It was as if she felt his hopeless struggle against his magical bonds unconsciously. Two endless pools of blue meet his silver eyes, despite the veil of invisibility cast upon him by her own hand, she could see him clearly.

The last fading remnants of light were brought to life, reflected in her fiery hair. The dark red mane that almost appeared to be burning with its own flame, and illuminating in the darkening street in a red hue. Magic surrounded and embraced her as it never would the unknowing horde that surrounded her. The moment lasted for centuries and yet only a short moment. A gap in time swallowed them up in a mere instance of seconds, in which they shared memories of better times, where laughter was not forgotten by intense fear, loss and sorrow. It was far too short in passing, so short that one would have wondered if it ever were.

It was terribly unclimatic, a flash of green light, the same colours of the meadow back home in the bosom of summer, and then it was over. Silenced and bound in the shadow, there was nothing he could do but to watch in horror as the limb lifeless body, feel to the ground in a boneless heap. In some part of his conciseness he registered cruel laughing and meaningless taunts of the killer and his companions of murderers, the so-called warriors of the light.

Another green flash in the distance called their attention from the fallen body on the ground and called them to another sight of victory, to another kill. _Were there anyone left?_

The restriction of the spells cast upon his body slowly seeped from away, as the one who created them lived no longer. Yet he did not move, a strange numbness had spread through all his limbs and thoughts, he could only stare into dead eyes the held nothing of the life it was once, and what it could never be again. So passed Mafalda the bright, last but one of the noble house of Slytherin.

***

He stayed in the ally until the lights had turned dim and the stars glittered in the sky. The pavement drenched in draught of neglect and time, both covered for an instance as his worn out boots fell on them.

Gone, all gone now.

It was to incomprehensible, too unreal, he kept hoping it to be only a dream so he could waken and see that familiar room, with all the familiar faces in times before they turned worn and haunted. Eyes forever fearing, searching for the dagger always unseen in it's arrival. A time when smiles existed.

Where did those times go?

Was it only five years ago that his greatest worry was boredom? An undeserved detention?

With silver eyes directed at the still form before him, glassy eyes forever staring at the skies above, never seeing anything anymore, he turned his gaze upwards again to the same poles of light. Had the stars seen this coming before it happened? Irrelevant though it was, he couldn't help but wonder. The centaurs always claimed that they did, the fates of the mortals below written in skies above. It seemed fitting somehow…

Had he known back then that time had been so fleeting, so fragile would it have changed anything, or only been unbearable by knowing the inevitable outcome? Gazing at the stars with the last remnant of another life lying beside him, he came to a realisation.

It didn't matter, nothing of it.

not anymore

But this body would not burn like the others did no, not her. The hair a red as a pure undying flames of a phoenix's, rested lifelessly on the grey bricks that had become her home in the last terrible weeks of her existence. Her spirit would rest in a place of tranquillity, not here in the ruins of a place only inhabited by force. He bend down and picked the small figure up in his arms, a lone tear trailed down his cheek and fell down onto hers. A shaking hand stroke a lock of hair behind her ear, planting a soft kiss upon her forehead. Vainly hoping that she would open her eyes with that knowing smile of hers and tell him to stop brooding. She didn't.

No, this one they would not have, there would be no pyre for her.

With a soft 'pop' he apparated to the hill she had always loved so much in her life. Unlike their homes, this place was still undisturbed, no ashes of destruction lay upon this field of solace. It would remain so forever, everyone who knew of it was long dead. The silence was complete, not even the smallest breeze lifted, as in respect of the dead witch he held close to his breast.

She was so light, hardly anything more than a bag of bones covered with snow-white skin, which bore testament of many, many years in the dark. Despite her light frame, it was almost more than he could accomplice, carrying her towards her last resting-place. And yet how could he deny her this small mercy? She would never know that he had done this for her, he knew that. She would never know. What she were, was taken from this world in that alley, his only comfort was that she did not pass from this world alone. He had been with her, even if it was only form a distance.

With a flick of his wrist the dirt was torn from the earth and left a little hole fitting the body of his friend, his last friend. Another spell created a stone ground at the bottom. His tattered cloak was the only thing he could to give her on her passage to next life. It was all he had now. If this was right he would have given her so much more, so was the customs of the one born of pure magic. Though a world that allowed that had come and gone, leaving a proud, hollow, empty one in its place.

A levitation spell brought Mafaldas shell down into the hole, laying her on top of his robe transfigured into a dark green cloth that covered the stone beneath completely. Seeing her down there was too much for him, vainly choking back the inevitable sobs he stared at the still form. The tears now ran freely from the silver eyes, hitting the ground below. He did not remove them, did not even try to dry his eyes. This was pure sorrow brought forth by a friend who was lost forever, nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing that should be hidden.

By some small mercy of the powers, he managed the last spell in the first try despite his shaking hands. The ground returned from the pile further way and covered the grave and its inhabitant. As soon as it settled above her it became the clearest of diamonds, forever preserving the body below, forever covering her in the light of the stars and the sun. She might have died in darkness, but in this way, in death, she would have the sun to gaze at each day. Just like she had wanted to in life.

He stepped near the grave as he muttered the last cloaking spells and curses of protection. "Goodbye my friend. May your next life be a happy one." With a last look back he left the place for good, walking into the shadows of the trees before he disappeared from sight.

Left behind lay the crystal grave beneath the willow tree, the inscription shone out like silver as the moon illuminated it. Covered in blue light of the moon was the words carved into the clear rock.

_Here lies Mafalda the bright, her soul a fair as her heart._

_She spend most of her life hoping. She lost her family's love at eleven years of age and spend the rest of her life, hoping to be loved once more. She never succeeded and was killed by one she called 'Brother'. _

_She will be avenged._

Beside it was the elegant letters formed in that of a poem, written by the one who now owned the stone it was carved upon.

_Where are my fields of green?_

_The fields I know I've seen_

_When did the red alert?_

_Become the only sound I ever heard_

_Who turned their eyes as cold as ice?_

_Making a pyre in every size_

_Why should I believe in 'holy' powers?_

_My friends all resting beneath the flowers_

_What make's you think you are so much better?_

_You are nothing but a blood letter._

Her killer would die screaming before the sun yet again would greet the earth, as would many others in the following weeks. Red did suit them after all.

***

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

Author's note:

Depressing I know, but I had a bad day.

Don't really know if I will continue it, as I am still working on 'or perhaps in Slytherin' which will receive a new name at the next update.

As always I greatly appreciate any reviews.


End file.
